


Next To Me

by Pacificrey



Series: These Streets Are Paved With Blood and Gold [2]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF, The Creatures | Cow Chop RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, Fake Chop, Gen, Sideshow - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-03 21:33:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14578119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pacificrey/pseuds/Pacificrey
Summary: When their bank heist goes awry, James is left incapacitated. Luckily for him, a stranger takes him in. But this stranger isn't exactly who he says he is.





	1. Capture

There’s a lot of blood, and then there’s too much blood. And when James looks down, he realizes that the amount of blood that’s soaking his shirt and beginning to drip down his leg is in the too much category. Another bullet lodges itself in the column next to his head, and he snaps back to his current situation because if he didn’t deal with what was right in front of him, he wasn’t going to have to worry about blood loss. James readjusted the duffle bag on his shoulder, trying to think of where everyone else would be. Aleks was nowhere to be seen, and James silently prayed that he had gotten out. But James knew that if Brett was smart he wouldn’t have waited around for them. Another break of shots and James took the opportunity to fire back, aiming haphazardly around the lobby. They really needed to work on their escape plans, James thought and hoped that he wasn’t hearing helicopters in the distance.

 

The heist had been going flawlessly. They had easily been able to almost walk in the back door during the night delivery, and the codes they had gotten from a new contact cracked the safe almost instantaneously. But something went wrong. It could have been the front teller, noticing that the guard doing rounds was taking too long. Or maybe it was a silent alarm set off from entering a wrong code. 

 

“Last chance to come out without us blowing your brains out!” One of the police officers yelled out, and James rolled his eyes. Like any of them wouldn’t take the first shot at him. The bounty on all of their heads was well over any of the officers pay. But James was seeing spots and could feel himself getting dizzy. The blood loss was finally getting to him. He looked down. The shiny marble floors were stained bright red with his blood. James couldn’t tell where the blood was coming from anymore, and there was so much adrenaline flowing through his veins that he couldn’t feel anything. If this is how I go out, so be it. James had always wished that he could die in some kind of explosion, but a shootout was the next best thing. 

 

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. 

 

The sound of breaking glass drew the attention of all the police to the window, where some kind of canister had been thrown into the bank. There was a moment of silence before someone shouted, “Gas!” 

 

The can exploded in a fury of colors. Not gas, James thought. Smoke. A smokescreen. James glanced up before taking one last look around the room. As the smoke filled the lobby, James took the opportunity to make a run for the back door, the sound of the police coughing fading into the distance as he went through doors. There was a tunnel now, darkness was surrounding his vision. He stumbled down the hallways, trying to keep himself upright. He could hear the sounds of police yelling. They sounded closer. James forced himself upright, pushing himself out one final door and into the alley. He fell down the small set of stairs, landing on the pavement, knowing that his face was now bleeding. The dark crept in, and he could barely make out the end of the alley, where he watched as a car pulled in. A blurry figure got out, and as they bent down, James’ vision went black. 

  
  


James woke up in a strange bed. It wasn’t the first time, but given the circumstances, he definitely felt panic setting in. He felt for his phone, finding that it was gone. His right hand was free, but his left was handcuffed to the bed. An IV snaked its way into his left arm as well, and he also realized that a machine was beeping softly to his left, and he had various sensors attached to his chest. If the person that did this wanted me dead, then they would have just left me in the street, James reasoned. With that logic. he began to take inventory of himself. Using his right hand, he lifted the covers. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and his pants were also missing, revealing extensive bandaging on his chest, arm, and leg. Whoever did this was methodical. James looked around. It was dark in the room, but the light filtering through the blinds illuminated enough that James could tell he was in a small apartment. It seemed like it was night, but James couldn’t tell how long had passed since he had passed out. Aleks. James thought suddenly. He prayed that Aleks had made it out, that he was looking for him. A sound in the other room caught James’ attention. The sound of a key entering a lock. Of a door unlocking. Of a door opening slowly. James laid back down, pretending as well as he could that he was asleep. He tried to calm his racing heart, but the monitor on the wall was going to give him away. Luckily, the person didn’t seem that interested in James and instead shuffled around in the other room. A light turned on, and James could smell some kind of take-out, realizing suddenly how hungry he was. A phone rang twice before his captor answered.

 

“What’s up?” The voice was that of a male and was soft and quiet. James could swear that he had heard it before, but it definitely wasn’t anyone on the crew. “Huh? Oh…” he heard footsteps getting closer and closed his eyes. They stopped at what James assumed was the door. “Yeah, he’s alive.” A pause. “Sounds good.” James heard the footsteps leaving, opened his eyes. “See you later.” The man hung up, and James listened for more footsteps. James knew that he had two options: one, wait and see what this guy was planning on doing, or two, try and get the fuck out of there. James had no idea what this man was planning. He had kept him alive, but it might be to get some ransom. Or worse. All kinds of scenarios ran through James’ head. Maybe he’s going to harvest my organs, James thought. He had to get out of here. He looked over at the small table, seeing if there was anything he could use to pick the lock. A folded piece of paper and a half glass of water. Great. James huffed and leaned back on the bed. 

 

He didn’t know how long it had been before James heard footsteps again. He didn’t know what time it was, but this time he was too tired to do anything. The footsteps stopped before the door, and James swore that he heard - fear? In the man’s breathing. James kept his eyes on the door as the man walked in and stopped in the doorframe. He was light from behind from the light in the other room, but James could tell that he was tall and skinny. 

 

“Oh. You’re up.” The man mumbled, raising his hand before pausing. “Do you mind if I turn on the lights?” James shook his head no, and the man turned on the lights, and James shut his eyes from the sudden brightness. The man’s voice seemed...familiar, but the answer was stuck on the far edge of his brain and he couldn’t find it right now. He slowly opened his eyes, taking in the man in full light. He looked young, wore a loose-fitting t-shirt and glasses. He looked worriedly at James. “Are you ok?” He asked, and James felt a laugh rise in his throat. He stifled it. 

 

“I’m chained to a bed, and hooked up to a machine, do I look ok?” The man winced and looked genuinely sorry. Sorry enough that James kind of felt bad. 

 

“Sorry,” the man apologized, shifting awkwardly from side to side in the doorframe and pushing the loose hair off his face. “I was afraid you might try and run.” James was silent, and the man paused for a moment before walking towards James. He stopped at the edge of the bed. “Do you...” He paused again. “Do you mind if I change your bandages? I haven't done it while you are awake yet, so I guess I should get your permission.” James nodded yes, trying to ignore the cryptic answered to his own question, and the man bent down to the drawers, pulling out new gauze and disinfectant. He took a deep breath and pulled back the covers. “Can you sit up please?” James shifted as best he could, pulling himself into a sitting position. Despite how hard he wanted to hide it, the pain showed on his face. And with that, the man went to work.

 

It was calming, having this man work on him. It wasn’t lost on James that he still had no idea where he was, or who this was, or why he was helping. But for that twenty minutes, he felt more at ease that he had been in a while. He couldn’t tell if it was the professionalism, how the man seemed to know exactly what he was doing, or just the man’s energy, coming off in waves. He almost fell asleep as he watched the man’s nimble fingers wrap gauze around James’ thigh.

 

“Can I ask you a question?” James asked, and the man nodded, continuing his work. “First, what’s your name?” The man paused for a second before answering. 

 

“Criken.” He straightened up from the bandages, admiring his work. 

 

“What, you don’t trust me with a real name?” James joked, and the man cracked a smile. 

 

“Who says that’s not my real name? Besides, names hold power in this city, Nova.” He smiled at James, before walking over to the IV, checking the level. 

 

“Ok, then why am I here? Why did you save me?” James asked, and Criken tilted his head, reading the measurements of the fluid bag. 

 

“Well, I can’t answer that first one, but I saved you because I saw someone in trouble.” He turned the dial on the IV and James immediately felt woozy. “Rest. You’re going to need it.” And as Criken walked to the door and turned off the lights, James’ vision went dark. 


	2. Two Steps Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James learns about the bank situation, as well as some more about his host, Criken.

James knows two things for certain: one, it’s now daytime, and two, Criken is some kind of criminal. There’s no other way that he would know who he was. There were other signs before this. The calmness of the wounds James had, the strange phone calls. James shouldn’t be surprised. Why would some random civilian help a gunshot victim fleeing a bank?

But then again, why would a criminal? If Criken was just a petty thief, he probably would have just taken the money of James’ dying body and left him there. Criken had to be a someone. A someone that had a motive to keep James alive, at least for now. The heart rate machine was still next to him, but it was no longer beeping, and James realized that the electrodes were no longer attached to his body, and the IV wasn’t in his arm either. He was also now wearing a t-shirt that he guessed was Criken’s, but still the same boxers. James heard the now familiar sound of the door unlocking and watched the door to his room as the footsteps approached. Criken’s face appeared in the doorway, looking surprised.

“Shit, I thought I gave you the right dose.” He walked in, hands full of groceries. “I wasn’t expecting you to be up yet.” James shrugged in a ‘what are you going to do’ gesture, and Criken glanced nervously at James’ wrist, where the handcuff still was holding strong. “So uh, if I unlocked you, would you promise not to try and leave?” James looked Criken up and down. There was no doubt that he could take the man out. He might be tall, but he didn’t look like he had that much combat training. But then again, James was weak with injury, and he didn’t want to underestimate the man.

“Yeah, you can trust me.” Criken smiled, leaving the room and returning shortly thereafter without the grocery bags. He walks over to James, kneeling over and unlocking the handcuff.

‘You don’t have to get up or anything, but you can…” Criken paused. “Watch TV or something.” James did not want to be in the bed anymore, and swung his legs off the bed, standing up.

Bad idea.

His head suddenly felt light, the floor was rushing up to meet him, and the walls swayed. Criken caught him, his hands gripping James’ shoulders, his face inches from his own, worry showing itself across his face. They stood like that for a moment, Criken holding James up, and James weakly trying to hold himself up.

“You okay?” Criken asked, and James mumbled under his breath, trying to brush Criken off. Instead, he lifted James’ arm over his shoulders, helping to guide James to the other room, sitting him down on the couch. Satisfied that James was safely on the couch, Criken walked over to the kitchen, apparently going to make dinner.

Dinner? James thought, looking over to the window. It was night again, and James cursed himself for losing track of time. He grabbed the remote, flipping absentmindedly through channels. He paused on the news, a flash of familiar words catching his eye. “National Bank closed.” That was their heist location. The volume was low, and the woman reporting was standing in front of the closed off bank. James quickly turned up the volume.

“‘...saying that it was only a matter of time before their downfall.’ Thank you police chief. Three days ago, after an unsuccessful robbery of the National Bank on Main Street of Los Santos, the gang known as Fake Chop was disbanded.”

“What?” James exclaimed, unable to hide his confusion. Criken looked over from the kitchen, glancing at the TV.

“From the official reports, it is believed that after the death of the second in command, known only as Nova, the other members scattered, and the police are certain that it is only a matter of time before they are able to track down the remaining members…” James stopped listening as he felt his anger rising to the surface.

“Ok, what the fuck is going on?” James turned to Criken, who was looking in still from the kitchen. James repeated himself. “What. The. Fuck. Is going on!” He yelled, and Criken shushed him, putting down his bowl and walking quickly over to James, sitting on the couch next to him.

“Fine, fine.” He looked around nervously, before turning the TV back on, flipping to a random channel and turning the volume almost all the way up.

“Hey, wha-” James started, but Criken put his hand over James’ mouth, motioning with a finger to stay quiet. He then slid himself closer, leaning in to whisper in James’ ear.

“You’re in a safe house. Someone paid me to keep you here until they contact me again. That’s all I know.” He leaned away, and James tried to understand.

“Does my crew know that I’m alive?”James asked, and Criken shook his head. Who would pay to keep James alive, besides his own crew? There was a lot of questions that James needed answering, but from what just happened, he knew that it wasn’t even safe in the safehouse. Instead, he just nodded, and Criken turned down the TV. He still looked worried as he stood up and walked back to the kitchen. James watched, wondering once again who in the hell this guy was.

James changed the channel three or four more times, eventually giving up and turning the TV off. He didn’t know what Criken had been giving him, but he knew that he hadn’t been eating real food. But he was hungry now, and whatever Criken was making smelled really good.

“Dude, when is dinner going to be ready?” James asked from the couch, and Criken laughed.

“It’d be ready sooner if I had help,” Criken mumbled, and James began to stand up. “Woah man, I was joking,” Criken laughed, and rushed over, pushing James back onto the couch. James looked up, slightly offended.

“I’m so bored,” James whined, laying dramatically down on the couch.

Criken sighed. “Well, dinner will be ready in 5 minutes, so just hold it together for that long.” James glared at Criken in defeat and unhappily waited the 5 minutes. Criken brought him a plate as he sat on the couch. James was greeted with a small potato and a piece of grilled chicken.

“Dude,” James huffed, looking over at Criken, who sat next to James on the couch with a similar looking plate.

“What?” Criken asked, looked from the plate to James. “You haven’t eaten solid food in almost 4 days, we don’t want to have any dramatic reactions from your body when you eat a huge meal.” James opened his mouth to protest but then thought better. Instead, he cut up the potato and ate.

It was still good, despite being not a lot of food, but James was still bored, and not at all interested in going to sleep, despite Criken’s continued pleading.

“Please, you need to rest,” Criken said, and James ignored him.

“I’m not tired,” James snarked, like a child, and Criken groaned in anger.

“Fine, you ass.” Criken stepped in front of the TV, changing the channel, and reaching into the drawer in front. He tossed James an Xbox controller. “You wanna play?”


	3. One Step Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James learns more about Criken and encounters a slight problem when Criken leaves on errands.

James woke up on the couch, his whole body aching. It was still dark, and as James looked around, he saw that Criken was sleeping in the chair next to him, still wearing the same clothes as last night. James sat up slowly, trying to prevent another dizzy spell. He pushed off the blanket that was covering his body, and slowly lowered his feet to the cold floor, waiting for the creaking of the hardwood. James slowly stood, his body protesting slightly, but the low light and colder air of the early morning seemed to be helping. He was finally fully standing, and with that James had some options. He could try and escape and find his crew. He could find his phone and try and contact one of Brett’s burner phones.

 

Instead of that, he ended up just wandering around the apartment quietly. The whole place seemed surprisingly...mundane. Food in the cupboards, no guns on the kitchen table. It was a lot more put together than James’ apartment, and definitely more presentable than the warehouse. He quietly opened a door to what looked like an office. Files were scattered over the desk, and a computer was sitting idle. James walked over to the desk, scanning the files for anything that he recognized. 

 

_ There.  _ A file labeled from a week ago, with the word “NBLS” on the tab. National Bank of Los Santos. James opened the file, his heart filling with dread. Everything was there. The codes, the blueprints, the alarm systems. James flipped a page, and saw, circled in red, a switch on the inside wall, labeled “silent alarm.” Everything clicked. 

 

Criken was their contact. That’s where James had recognized his voice. It obviously sounded different over the phone, but it was him. He was a number cruncher, a hacker. This was the man that had almost gotten James and his crew killed. James felt that rage again but knew that he couldn’t do anything about it right now. First, he would have to find a phone. He closed the file, leaving the room. 

 

It had gotten marginally brighter since James had been gone, and he lifted the shades, trying to see where in the city they were. Criken shifted in his sleep, his face still crinkled in worry.  _ Why would he not warn us about the alarm if he knew?  _ James waited a moment, making sure that he was still asleep and walked to the next room. He slowly opened the door, scanning the dark for a light. He saw a green light on the opposite side of the room and walked gently over, taking precise steps. James’ head hurt, and he couldn’t tell if it was from the physical exhaustion or from anger. He reached the wall, feeling down. It was a phone, and James quickly turned it on, feeling the excitement as he watched the apple light up. Surprisingly, it wasn’t locked, and James wondered what kind of person in this day didn’t have a password on their phone. James paused. He couldn’t call anyone. He wanted to make as little noise as possible, and he wasn’t even sure anyone would pick up. But if he texted someone, they might text back, which would be worse. He opened up to a new message:

 

_ Hey Brett, its James. Dont answer this isnt my phone. I dont know where I am. Try and  _ _ track this phone. Ill try and contact you again.  _

 

James pressed send and immediately deleted the message chain and turned the phone off. He knew that they couldn’t track the phone now, but at least they would know. He didn’t even know if Brett would get the message. But he had other problems he had to deal with first. James wanted so badly to confront Criken about the file, but it might be better to keep it to himself for now. Besides, James was the one snooping. James walked back out to the kitchen, snooping around for some coffee grounds and a filter. He heard Criken moving again and watched as he shifted in the chair. James opened a cabinet, finding an off-brand bag of coffee beans, and next to that, the filters. 

 

James sat back on the couch as the coffee brewed, the smell of the beans filling the apartment as the sun filtered slowly in through the blinds. Criken slowly woke up as James laid back down on the couch. James heard him stretch and felt Criken’s gaze fall on him. James looked over at Criken, whose hair was going in ten different directions and his glasses were tilted. James had to stifle a laugh. Criken tried to open his eyes, to wake himself up more. James watched as he pulled off his glasses and rubbed his face, pushing back his hair. He blinked a few times looking from James to the kitchen and back to James. 

 

“Did you make coffee?” He asked, his voice raspy and quiet from sleep.    
  


“Uh, yeah,” James coughed, watching Criken frown, his eyes still almost closed. “Is that ok?” James asked.

 

“Yes, I just didn’t expect it.” Criken stood up, and James followed. “How long have you been up?” 

 

James shrugged. “Probably 5 minutes.” Criken nodded, and continued into the kitchen, grabbing two mugs from the cabinets. 

 

“What do you take?” He said, and James shrugged. 

 

“Whatever you’re having.” Criken grinned, and poured coffee into each cup, followed by sugar. He handed the cup to James, who took it and they both stood in silence, sipping their coffee. Criken finally looked awake enough to be coherent and turned to James. 

 

“How do you feel?” James moved his shoulders, wincing slightly in pain. 

 

“I could definitely be better, but I could be much worse,” James lied. His arm had flared in pain as soon as he moved it up, but he figured that the sooner he showed signs of improving, he could leave. 

 

‘That’s good,” Criken said, taking another sip of coffee. He stood there, lost in thought. James examined his face. Criken had a hard time hiding his emotions, and they were usually painted plainly across his face. Right now, James could tell that he was thinking hard. He looked different without his glasses, without them taking up his whole face. He was nice to look at, and James felt the heat rise in his face and looked down into his coffee. “We should also get you cleaned up,” Criken said suddenly. “I mean, you haven’t showered in a few days.” 

 

“Are you saying I smell?” James scoffed. 

 

“I’m saying that someone that has open wounds and hasn’t moved in a few days doesn’t smell...fresh.” Criken made a face, raising his eyebrows and looking away. 

 

“It’s not like I have a choice. Besides, I don’t have any other clothes,” James argued, and Criken shrugged. 

 

“I’ll get you some clothes. Or you can borrow some of mine.” Criken suggested, and James looked Criken up and down. 

 

“Ok, you’ll really leave me here unattended?” James asked, and Criken nodded. 

 

“I trust you,” he said, and James’ heart skipped a beat.  _ You shouldn’t.  _ He thought to himself. “What kind of clothes do you wear?” 

___

 

James turned on the shower, watching steam fill the small bathroom. Criken had left a few minutes ago, and James had locked the door behind him. James walked from the bathroom to the bedroom. He had told James that he could still go through his clothes if he wanted. He opened the drawers, rummaging through shirts. Finding nothing he liked, James walked back to the bathroom, testing the water. It felt nice, and he stripped, gingerly pulling the shirt he was wearing off. He stood, almost naked in the bathroom, examining the bandages. He should have asked Criken if he should take them off before he gets in the shower.  _ Too late, _ he thought, and started to pull on the bandages. They stuck on dried blood, pulling on his skin, opening scabs. 

 

“Fuck,” James mumbled, but continued, eventually standing in a pile of bloody bandages. He looked at himself in the mirror. He could see the two holes in his shoulder, a hole lower, right below his ribs, and the two in his thigh. They seemed clean enough, but there was extensive bruising around all the wounds. He winced as he prodded around, and finally stripped fully and get in the shower. James let the hot water rinse over him, through his beard, down his body. It felt really good, and James felt himself relax. He tried to wash his hair, but he couldn’t reach up. Groaning, he instead bent over, trying to wash his hair as best as he could. As he rinsed it out, he heard the door unlock, and finished rinsing. “Criken!” he shouted, turning off the water. No response. James huffed, grabbing his towel and wrapping it around his waist and stepping out of the shower. 

 

And as James opened the door to the main room, he was greeted with a gun to his face. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Criken deal with both internal and external problems.

James took a step back, putting his hands up. The person holding the gun gestured for him to follow out into the main room. James complied and walked slowly out. The person was wearing a black hoodie and a bandana tied around their mouth and nose. They kept the gun trained on James, pointing at the couch. James sat, his back to the front door, and the person stared at him, zip-tying his hands. 

 

“Nova?” He asked, his voice low and gravely. James raised his eyebrows.

 

“Who wants to know?” James regretted his answer as he was treated to hard hit from the back end of the man’s pistol. James yelped, and the man repeated himself. 

 

“Are you Nova?” James took a breath. 

 

“Yeah.” James didn’t notice if the person had been let in, or had broken the lock. It didn’t really matter. If Criken walked through the door, he would be shot immediately. James had to try and keep this dude busy. “And who are you?” The man ignored him. ‘Hey!” James yelled, and the man refocused on James. 

 

“I’m no one you should be concerned with,” and with that, the man pulled a bag over James’ head. James began to struggle, but as he did, a loud gunshot goes off right above his head, and he hears a body thud to the ground. It is silent for a moment. 

 

“James?” Criken’s voice calls from behind James, and James feels himself laugh in relief.

 

“Yes?” James answers, and he hears Criken sigh in relief. “Did you get my clothes?” He laughs, and the bag is lifted off James’ face, and James is greeted with a grinning Criken, holding a gun and soaking wet, his glasses almost all fogged up. 

 

“Don’t scare me like that,” Criken says, a smile on his face but worry in his eyes. James smiles back.

 

“You think I wanted to be held at gunpoint? And why are you soaked?” James laughed. 

 

“It’s raining outside, dude,” Criken laughed, and James was suddenly very aware that he was only wearing a towel.

 

“And I’m serious about the clothes,” James mumbled, and Criken shook his head, handing James a plastic bag with clothes. James walked back to the bathroom, stepping over the body of the intruder. “Jesus,” James mumbled under his breath, examining the clothes Criken bought him. The t-shirt is huge and features a dinosaur trying to eat pizza on it, adorned with the words: the struggle is real.  _ I’m going to kill him,  _ James thought, before pulling it over his head. The basketball shorts fit fine, and as he walks back out, Criken walks back in the apartment, shutting the door. The body is no longer in the front of the couch, so James had to assume that Criken had done...something with it. Criken hung up his wet jacket and shivered. He was wearing a short sleeve shirt, and James noticed red marks in the creases of his elbows, which he quickly hides with his hands.

 

“How do you like the clothes?” He asks, and James rolls his eyes.

 

“They’re great,” he says as sarcastically as possible. 

 

“Hey, I thought it was funny,” Criken laughs, and James shakes his head. Criken walks past James. “Want to order take-out?”

 

“You’re joking. After that whole incident today, you’d be willing to have someone deliver food to the apartment? What even was that?” James asked, and Criken tilted his head. 

 

“Probably someone that wants you dead more than I want you alive. But we solved it? Right?” James’ eyes widened. 

 

“By shooting someone!” James exclaimed, and Criken shrugged and kept walking into the bedroom. James stood for a moment and wondered what he should do. He walked to the bedroom to ask Criken about takeout and stopped, mouth open. Criken was half undressed and staring at James in the door. 

 

“Hey, maybe knock?” Criken said, his voice sounding actually a little annoyed. 

 

“Maybe shut the door!” James immediately turned around, walking red-faced back to the kitchen.  _ I guess I’ll order the take-out.  _

 

Criken emerged from the shower 10 minutes later, wearing an old t-shirt and shorts. James was sitting back on the couch, absently watching TV. He had figured that the couch looked clean enough after the incident that it was fine to sit on. Criken grabbed something from the kitchen and sat down next to him, and James once again noticed the track marks on the inside of his arms. 

 

“Can I ask you a question?” James turned to Criken, who sat organizing the stash of medical supplies in his lap.

 

“Shoot,” Criken said. “As long as I can work on you while you talk.” James nodded, pulling off his shirt, revealing the healing wounds on his arm and chest. 

 

“What are the marks on your arms?” Criken looked at his arms, rubbing the bruised spots. He was silent, methodically applying antiseptic and slowly covering the wounds in gauze, taping over it. 

 

“Is it that important?” He asked, and James nodded. Criken poked at the skin around the hole in his abdomen, checking for infection. 

 

“Well, if the person that is caring for me is a drug addict, yeah I’d like to know.” Criken sighed in defeat, and cleaned James’ leg, placing more bandages on those as well. 

 

“They’re from...blood transfusions,” Criken looked down, done playing nurse, and James was silent. “Not for me,” he continued. “When, when you first got here, you had lost so much blood, I had no idea what to do, it all happened so fast…” 

 

“Dude,” James interrupted him. “You saved my life. It’s fine. Really,” James said, smiling at Criken.  

 

The doorbell rang, and Criken stood to answer it. 

__

 

James always enjoyed take-out Chinese, it always reminded him of stakeouts and all-nighters that Aleks and he would pull at the warehouse...James felt guilty that he wasn’t doing more to try and get out, but at this point, he trusted Criken.  _ But the alarm,  _ a voice in his head said.  _ Then he would have let me die.  _

 

“Hey, watch it!” Criken pushed against James’ shoulder, as he rounded the corner. James laughed. 

 

“As if you can even think of catching up with me!” James yelled as he crossed the finish line. 

 

“Dude you know I’m no good at driving games,” Criken whined, a smile on his face, and James just smiled back. 

 

“Can I see what other games you have?” James asked, and Criken nodded. James got up, rustling through the bin in front of the TV. “Dude, you got RE7?”

 

“Yeah, you want to play?” James groaned. 

 

“Obviously, but it’s not multiplayer,” he said, and Criken shrugged. 

 

“So, I’ll just watch.” 

 

“Really?” James asked, and Criken crinkled his eyes with a smile and nod.

 

James knew that he wasn’t going to beat the game tonight, but he underestimated how fun it would be playing with someone else. Criken did his fair share of backseat gaming until James shushed him after he spoiled a boss battle. After that, he slowly inched his way closer to James, until they were sitting right next to each other. James could feel the heat coming from Criken’s legs, felt his comforting energy as he rested his head on James’ shoulder. As the hours went on, James felt Criken get more and more relaxed until he fell asleep. He could hear his even breathing, felt the rise and fall of his chest. James paused the game, reaching over and, as gently as he could, pulled off Criken’s glasses. With that, Criken’s face crinkled in worry, and then fear, and his eyes flung open and he sat up abruptly, breathing heavy, looking around, confused. He mumbled something about the people in the dark, and James put his hands on Criken’s shoulders, trying to calm him down.

 

‘It’s ok, it’s ok,” James murmured, and Criken looked right into James’ eyes, and James felt something break in him. He leaned into James’ chest, and James held him tight, waiting for his breathing to regulate, for the whimpers to stop. James eventually leaned back, and Criken fell asleep in James’ lap, and eventually, James fell asleep as well to the dull glow of the TV screen. 


	5. Release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Criken finally lets James out, but that comes with its own consequences.

James woke up in the dark, but he could tell that it was the day. He could hear the rain battering the windows, felt the cold that came with Californian rain in the winter. Criken was still sound asleep on James’ chest, his legs intertwined with James’ on the couch. The blanket was over both of them, and James felt safe and warm. He wanted to go back to sleep to stay here forever. But as he closed his eyes, he heard Criken’s phone ring. The soft vibrating was coming from the floor. James gently shook Criken’s shoulder as he reached down to grab the phone. 

 

‘Hey, you’re getting a call,” James whispered, grabbing the phone. He glanced at the contact name: Tamto. Criken lifted his head looking disheveled, and James answered the phone, holding it up to Criken’s ear. 

 

“Hello?” Criken answered, his voice quiet. “Oh, hey. Yeah, I’m good. Today? What time? Ok, bye.” James took the phone back, hanging up. 

 

“Who was that?” James asked, and Criken pushed himself up. 

 

“A friend,” he answered, standing up and wrapping himself in the blanket like a cape. He grabbed his glasses. “We have to get dressed,” Criken said, shuffling towards the bedroom. James stayed where he was, and waited until Criken emerged wearing a blue plaid shirt and dark pants. 

 

“You do remember that I don’t have any other clothes?” James motioned to himself. 

 

“Yeah, you can just wear one of my sweatshirts or something.” Criken motioned. “How’re the holes?” James rotated his shoulder, swinging his arm around. Criken glanced at the window, peeking through the shades. “Good enough to shoot?” 

 

‘What are you talking about?” James asked, walking towards the window. 

 

“We’re about to have company,” Criken answered, and walked back to the kitchen. James looked out, down to the street, where two black vans were parked about a block away. He turned around to ask how he knew they guys were after them, but Criken was returning with a gun case, clearing the living room table and opening the case, revealing a beautiful sniper rifle. He assembled it quick, and James moved out of the way as he threw the window open and positioned himself. “Under the sink, there’s a magnum. Cover my back.” James grabbed the gun from the kitchen, watching as Criken looked down the scope. James cocked his gun and opened the second window. Time seemed to stand still for a second before all hell broke loose. 

 

Criken took the first shot, clean through the first driver’s head, splattering blood onto the headrest and window. The rest of the henchmen scattered from the vans and James watched in awe as Criken picked them off one by one, never wasting a shot. James couldn’t see anyone else, and Criken seemed satisfied as well, as he picked up his rifle and started towards the door. 

 

“We gotta get out of here,” Criken said, and James laughed. 

 

“No shit.” 

 

They almost ran to the fire escape, making their way down the seemingly endless flights of stairs. As they made it to the bottom, James paused trying to catch his breath. 

 

“Shit,” he mumbled. “You wouldn’t think a few days would take that much out of you,” he tried to joke but was legitimately out of breath. Criken put his hand on James’ shoulder.  

 

“You’re going to be fine,” Criken smiled, and James tried to smile back. They made their way slowly to the alley exit, James holding the door for Criken, and as they started walking towards the street, James felt something familiar. The cold steel of a gun pressed against his back. 

 

“Drop your guns and slowly turn around,” the voice said, and James glanced over at Criken, whose eyes were closed in disbelief. James put his gun on the ground, raising his hands as well as he could, and turned around. From the sounds next to him, he could tell Criken was doing the same. “Good,” the man said, lowering his gun. “Now we can talk.” There were two other men that kept their guns aimed at James and Criken, as the man who was talking paced back and forth. 

 

“It took me a while to find you, ya know,” He gestured to James. “There’s quite a bounty on your head, both from the police and your own little rag-tag band. And you,” He then pointed at Criken. “You had to go and shoot up a lot of my very good men.” Criken opened his mouth to protest, but just as quickly closed it. “But alas, I still get what I paid for.” One of the men walked forward, with the intention of James. 

 

“No! This wasn’t a part of the deal!” Criken, exclaimed, angrily looking from James to the man. 

 

“Was it? I don’t remember. We’ll then we can’t have any loose ends.” The man drew his gun and fired. James heard himself screaming before he even registered what was happening. Criken looked over at James, and his face went slack. There was blood. No, there was too much blood. It seeped through his shirt and onto the asphalt in the alley, getting washed away in the rain. Another shot and James looked up. This wasn’t the man though, who was looking around, just as confused as James. The two men to the sides went down, and then the man went down, and just like that it was over. James rushed over, cradling Criken’s head in his arms, trying to get him to focus. 

 

“Hey, right here Criken, right here,” James said, his voice breaking. He looked so small, so fragile now. He reached up to James, trying to whisper something. James leaned in, the rain soaking his clothes. 

 

“Keenan,” Criken whispered. “That’s my name.” Jame choked back tears. 

 

“I’m James,” he whispered, and Criken tried to smile. 

 

“That’s a nice name.” Criken closed his eyes, and James pulled him close, the rain washing away the blood, washing away his tears. 

 

“No, no, no, no,” James whispered over and over again as he kneeled in the alley, and a familiar voice called to him. 

 

“James?” Aleks called as he walked down the alley, gun in hand. “Are you okay?” 


End file.
